


Something Sharp

by Pandora (paperclipbutterfly)



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Conversations, Gen, Light Angst, Missing Scene, Work, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 05:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbutterfly/pseuds/Pandora
Summary: At the end of a normal workday during a not-so-normal time, Chief Bogo calls Benjamin Clawhauser to his office for a discussion. But what about?





	Something Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> I've apparently had Bogo on my mind lately... this little one-shot grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me like a flippin' snow globe until I agreed to write it down. 
> 
> _*grumbles*_ Nasty little plot bunnies, ruining my writing schedule...
> 
> Anywho... enjoy!

A soft, shy knock at the door called Chief Bogo’s attention away from the detestable stack of paperwork on the desk before him. The great cape buffalo sighed wearily. Only one mammal in his station knocked at his door like that. Hell, even Hopps had a louder knock than he did.

“Come in,” Bogo said with a voice tinged in reluctance, and pushed the pile of documents to the side. He took his reading glasses off and tossed them on top of it.

The door swung slowly inward and Officer Benjamin Clawhauser poked his head around the door cautiously. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

“Yes, Clawhauser, I did.” Bogo indicated the chair on the other side of his desk and folded his hooves together. “Come in. Take a seat, please.”

The portly cheetah opened the door only just enough to squeeze himself through and then closed it behind him. He stepped forward with his tail flitting and paws wringing.

“Am I in trouble?” His paw came up to hide the open mouthed, horrified expression he gave he sat down in the chair that had been offered to him. “Is this about the Gazelle concert announcement email I sent? I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I put the whole department on copy, I thought I only sent it to—”

“No.” Bogo stifled the smile that began to tug at the corner of his mouth. “No, it’s not about that.”

He wanted to laugh about it; it was funny, after all, and contrary to popular belief Chief Bogo did indeed have a sense of humor. This just certainly wasn’t the time for levity. Not that Clawhauser probably felt that way. The ZPD’s own personal ray of sunshine hardly ever let anything take away that Cheshire cat smile of his. Not a snicker about his weight. Not a comment about his diet. Nothing. He’d always been that way, back from when he was a rookie all the way through the years to this very moment. Bright. Round. Soft.

Everything about him was soft. From the pudge around his middle to the lilt of his voice: soft. He didn’t even have a pointed _opinion_. Was Bogo really supposed to believe that at any moment this mammal sitting in his office would suddenly turn savage, leap across the desk between them, and go straight for his throat?

And yet…

“However,” Bogo continued with a loud huff of authoritative air, “an issue has been recently raised that I’m not in a position to ignore any longer and does need to be addressed.”

“Like what?”

“With tensions in the city rising, there is a concern that it might be better to… reassign the front desk position.”

Clawhauser’s ears laid back. “What do you mean?”

“Starting Monday, Higgins is going to be managing dispatch at the front desk.”

“Higgins?” The cheetah stiffened to attention at the very mention of the gruff hippo, like even his name was attached to the words “aten hut!” Then his face went completely blank. “Am I… am I _fired_?”

“No.” Bogo shook his head, and savored for just a few second the relief that washed over his officer’s face with that one tiny word. “It’s just that… well, it might be best at this time if a predator wasn’t the first face mammals see when they walk into the ZPD.” He slid the pile of papers back in front of him and set his glasses back on his snout again, empty, meaningless motions that kept his eyes turned away from the face of the mammal across from him. “There are options for you to consider, which is what I wanted to discuss. I’m looking to transfer you to Records instead.”

“Records?” Clawhauser repeated incredulously. “But that’s… clerical work. It’s all the way downstairs.” He looked down at the floor with an intensity that might have bored straight through it, so he could see the very spot by the boiler that he would soon be stationed at. “I won’t get to see anyone…”

Chief Bogo looked up as he was still staring down, which was a mistake. The hollow untruth tumbled from his mouth before he could stop it. “I’m hoping that it will just be temporary.”

“Oh.” His face lifted, hopefulness softening the grimace that had set in between his eyebrows. “For how long?”

The Chief sighed. “Until it isn't.”

“Oh.”

Clawhauser tucked his ears and slumped his shoulders, clasped and unclasped his paws between his knees, deflating as though he had no actual substance but was made only of air, and Bogo had just poked a hole in him to let it all out.

“It’s the best I can think of,” Bogo said in a voice as close to apologetic as he was willing to come. He leaned back in his chair with his own frustration showing now on his face, ears dropping low. “I don’t want to lose you as an officer.”

“But you’ll keep me as a clerk?” His eyes lifted and words sank low, rumbled in accusation with particular emphasis on the consonants. Perhaps there was something a little sharp in him, after all. Clawhauser drew himself back and puffed his fur. “Can I say no?”

Chief Bogo raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You said it was an option. What happens if I refuse the transfer?”

A huff. The top page moved aside and underneath the stack. “Well… the other option would be to send you back to the academy to pass the physical and stress test. You could return to the beat again. But if you can’t pass the physical… well…”

Clawhauser sucked his gut, wrapped his arms around his still protruding middle as if they could hold in and firm all the soft parts of him. Turn them into instead something thin and swift and tough again.

“I see.”

“That said, the severance package for someone with your years of service to the force would be... considerable.” Bogo added quickly, “If you choose that route, of course.”

“Of course.”

He would have preferred any other officer to be in his office at this moment. Any one of them would have given him a good, long row. He would have preferred shouting, an argument, something sharp to butt his horns against. Not… this.

He sighed and put his hooves turned face up on the desk, an almost earnest gesture. “Please understand how difficult it is for me to have to do this.”

“Oh, yes,” Clawhauser said. “It must be very difficult… for _you_.”

His lip lifted for a moment, muzzle wrinkled and Bogo started to draw his hoof from the desk toward his belt, but there wasn’t anything sharp showing. Just a lip that twitched and then quivered. Clawhauser clicked his tongue and turned away.

“Can I have some time to think about this?”

“Certainly.” Reprieve from the horrible forms. Back to the side they went, and the chief waved a dismissive hoof at them like that might make them disappear. “Sleep on it and let me know what you decide first thing tomorrow morning.”

Clawhauser nodded. “Okay.”

Bogo checked the clock on the wall. “Your shift is ending in about an hour. Forward the dispatch calls to my desk and head home for the night.”

The cheetah’s face screwed up, an expression that a cub might make when being asked to leave the playground earlier than he wanted. “Is that an order, Chief?”

“Yes, it is.”

He nodded again, even more dully, then stood from the chair and shuffled to the door to leave.

“Ben.”

Clawhauser paused with his paw clasped on the knob in a sort of death grip and after the briefest hesitation turned back with wide, glassy eyes that held no light so much as mist. That were somehow still soft and sincere, even when they should have held a thousand daggers.

Bogo’s tongue burned, and every sentence that formed there turned to ashes in his mouth. What other rubbish words were left to say? What empty apologies, pointless wishes for desperate miracles would he insult one of his most loyal officers with now?

“Goodnight,” was all that survived the inferno, and was met with a strangled smile.

“Goodnight, sir.”

Clawhauser left. The door clicked shut softly behind him. Chief Bogo waited— _one locomotive, two locomotive, three_ —then wrested open the shallow desk drawer at his chest and pulled a silver flask from the back right corner. The drawer slammed shut, and the top came unscrewed. The taste of red-hot barbs pierced his throat all the way down, stuck in his gut like a pincushion.

The potent liquid would dull and soften the edges of this conversation in short order, but for the moment he appreciated the caustic scent that stung his nostrils and the stabbing flavor that made the tiniest drops of moisture pool at the corners of his eyes.

Something sharp to butt his horns against.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I headcanon all high-stress professions keep some form of medicinal bottle of alcohol in their offices for "those days." XD
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing either Bogo or Clawhauser, so I appreciate any feedback. If anything, at least I managed to make it brief, right? ;)
> 
> I do hope you all enjoyed it.


End file.
